The 6th Hero
by Love For Losses
Summary: Aran, remember that kid you saved right before you went off to fight the Black Mage and was sealed? He might as well be dead. That kid doesn't mean anything to anyone now. Stories are usually about great people who do great things, but his story needs to be told. His story of lack of greatness.
1. Chapter 1: Duct Tape

_Arrie_

Once upon a time, there was a girl, a magician. She wasn't just any plain ol' high-levelled magic user you could find on the street. No sirree. She was a master of magic, able to use every spell, skill, or buff from any magic class that ever existed. It didn't hurt that she was drop-dead gorgeous and had the body of a supermodel.

As you may have guessed already, I am this girl. Though I may have lied a bit. I knew next to zero magic and was certainly not a supermodel (though I'd like to think that I was anything close (to a magician or a supermodel)). I came from a conservative, old fashioned family that believed that if you wanted to fight, only warriors or archers would do. Apparently, thieves were too "rebellious" and "new-age"—filled with teenage girls that wore tiny tube tops that exposed far too much cleavage and guys who took off their shirts to show their "rock-hard abs" to the world. I'm not kidding, my father actually said that. I gagged at just the concept of any parental figure saying "rock-hard abs". Magicians were too abstract, he had also mentioned. They weren't reasonable. My father had compared them to university art students. That's quite an insult from my father. Don't even get me started on pirates. Or the Resistance. The snobbish Cygnus Knights, mutinous dual blades, whatever. Anything that wasn't a plain warrior or archer had something wrong with it. Instead, they wanted someone like my younger brother. He wanted to be a businessman when he grew up. Or like my older brother. Martin, one in a pair of twins, was a skilled warrior. My sister, on the other hand, who was the oldest child in the family (beating her twin by eleven minutes), had left to art school after a huge fight with my parents a year ago and I never heard from her since. That may explain the magician-art student analogy.

James was the typical youngest child. Bratty, restless and slightly spoiled (but I thought that of every single kid under the age of ten). He's quite a big dreamer for a seven-year-old. Sybil and Martin both played the role of the oldest child well, but in different ways. Sybil was patient, contemplating, and an observer. But most importantly, calm. I've only heard her raise her voice once in my whole life so far. And it scared the living daylight out of me. Martin was louder than her (when she was normal, aka not in a rage about why she couldn't go to Orbis School of Design). He seemed to take more up space with both his body and his energy. He always had a hint of authority in his easily-projected voice and always quick to love his family. He had a big laugh, a big head, and a big heart.

So where did that put me? The wannabe mage who was far too cowardly to stand up for own dreams like Sybil had done. Sure, I fought with my parents, I did things to make them angry, but I was afraid to do anything that would really hurt them or things that they frowned upon. I had missed my very first concert with my friends (petty, but sad and true) when I saw how much my parents hated the band (thinking back, I should've gone anyway). Sybil had never fought with the parents, never fought with anyone, actually. Sybil had never made them angry. But Sybil had gone to art school. She wasn't afraid of doing that.

I was already 15 and I had taken beginner warrior training to level 26 (pathetic, I know. Shut up). My parents expected me to make a job advancement soon.

I looked beyond the window in my no longer shared room at the navy blue sky. It was a slightly lighter shade of night near the horizon where the sky met the rooftops and urban pulse. The stars were visible from Perion and Ellinia, but in Henesys, the most anyone could see was a plane or two flying across the wide expanse of blue.

Then I looked _at_ my window. It was closed. Why was it closed? I got up to open it. If I looked through the think summer air hard enough, I could see the forest at the edge of the city. A small twinkle of yellow and white amidst the trees marked the presence of beautiful and forbidden Ellinia.

"What are you looking at, Awwie?"

I turned around to see James standing in my doorway with his toothbrush in his hand and the foam of his bright blue fluoride-less toothpaste clinging to the edge of his mouth. He called me Awwie when he was little because "Arrie" (pronounced /'erē/ as in _a__iry_) was too hard for the brat to pronounce. He continued calling me that simply out of habit.

"Nothing," I responded, a bit more hostility and annoyance in my tone than I had been meaning to let out. "And the name's _Arrie_," I enunciated my name a bit meanly. James just shrugged and left. I never really liked kids and kids never really liked me. Like Lady Godiva and clothes. "Oh, go wash your face, James," I called after him and shut my door.

I belly-flopped tiredly on to my teensy twin bed, exhaling loudly. I reached over on to my desk to turn on the radio, fiddling with the tuner knob for a few seconds before getting a station.

"…causing Orbis Station to close down. Due to this, flights to and from Orbis will be temporarily—"

I switched the station.

"…upcoming Balrog Expedition is leaving next week led by one of the most experienced warriors on Victoria Island, Collingwood, and they will—"

"…listening to Henesys' number one hit music station…"

A music station. I could listen to that. Maybe.

Annoyingly poppy pop songs came on and drifted around the room. Being their pop song-selves, they found their way into my incredibly dense head and didn't leave, even when I turned the radio off out of pure pissed-off-ness. I also tried to get some rest.

As I was about to get up to go to the washroom, I heard my door open creakily. I pretended to be asleep.

"Arrie."

_Martin_, I thought, imitating his voice in my head.

"Arrie, I know you're awake."

_Martin, why do you have to be such a bother?_

"Arrie, get up."

_Martin, go away._

"Arrie."

_Why did he keep saying my name?_

"Arrie."

_I hate it when he does that_.

"Arrie."

_He did it again, with his brotherly persistence._

"Ar—"

"Will you shut up?" I snapped at him, sitting up in my bed. He seemed slightly satisfied. "You know I hate it when you say my name like that." (It's true. That was the only thing I didn't like about him.) More satisfaction.

"Guess what?" Martin said chirpily.

I didn't want to, but I gave it a spin anyway. "Um, you had a sex change, pierced your belly-button, and decided to go to an art school in Kerning City where you can mingle with the 'girls wearing barely-there skirts' and 'dangerous shirtless guys'?" Clearly, I was in no mood for guessing games.

"No, but Sybil did," Martin replied. "Well, except the sex change part," he added thoughtfully.

"Okay," I said. I wasn't exactly sure what reaction he was expecting, but I have to hand it to him. That took me by surprise.

"She wants to visit us, but I told her that it'd be a bad idea unless she's coming armed with a crapload of apologies for our parents."

"Mhmm," I said, just to show him that I was still listening as I lay back down in my bed.

"So I told her I'd bring you to visit her with me tomorrow."

"Great."

I tuned Martin out for a while as I processed what I had just heard. Sybil, the serious, calm, and rational child in the family had gotten her belly-button pierced. What a… un-Sybil-like thing to do. I don't think I've ever even seen her belly-button. She was way too modest of a person. And Kerning City? Did she want to give our parents a heart attack? What had brought on this new Sybil? I was tempted to fly over and check her old dorm at Orbis School of Design to see if the real Sybil was tied up and stashed in the closet with duct tape covering her mouth (I couldn't because flights to Orbis were down). That would make sense, except, unable to move in the closet, what would real-Sybil do if she got hungry? Or needed to pee? This was a cruel new-Sybil.

"Oh and one last thing," Martin said, breaking me away from my thoughts of duct-taped Sybil and peeing.

"Yeah?"

"_Arrie._"

I rolled my eyes. _Martin_.


	2. Chapter 2: Interjection I

Rowan was lost. He was supposed to be getting on the Ark heading towards Victoria Island to hide from the Black Mage with his parents, but where was he now? He didn't know. The forest was burning and it was scaring him, the heat from the flames threatening to lick his skin. He could feel the effect of the imminent burns before the fire even touched him.

"HELP ME!" he cried out, hoping someone would see him. He was trembling in fear. What if he didn't make it? Mommy would be so sad. Rowan was always the favourite child; a toddler with the mindset of a teen. He had wandered away from the group wanting to be brave and protect his family but now that his foolish endeavors came to a crashing halt of reality, at four years old, what could he do? He started crying, not sobbing or anything, just letting tears continuously stream down his face, only to find them evaporating before they could drop off his face. His throat was drying up; his skin was itching from the heat. Is it just him or is the fire getting closer? He started to cough from the smoke, from the pain.

"Don't worry, I've got you. I'll take you back to the Ark."

Someone was here. So much smoke had gotten into his eyes, he couldn't see who had found him. The person scooped him up and carried him on their back.

"Let's go. There's nothing to be scared of. I'll bring you to your parents, okay?"

Rowan nodded, not sure if his savior could see him answering the question. The person was a lady, he noted. She would have to thank her later when he wasn't so dizzy and his throat wasn't as swollen. He rested his head against the strong arms that piggy-backed him.

"We're here," the lady said, gently laying him down on the ground.

"Good job, Aran," Rowan heard the steady, strong voice of an elf praise the lady. Her name was Aran? That's… one of the five heroes that are fighting the Black Mage! This was amazing! Rowan would tell everyone about how he got to meet Aran, a legendary hero.

"No, I want to stay here and fight the Black Mage. Make sure everyone else makes it safely to Victoria Island," Aran said in response to a question Rowan didn't catch asked by the elf. "I promise I'll come back." His vision cleared up enough for him to see Aran walking back into the burning forest she had saved him from.

"Wait! Miss Aran!" Rowan croaked after her, his throat still dry.

"Little boy, stay back. It's dangerous," the elf warned him. For good measure, she took Rowan's hand and guided him towards the Ark.

"No!" Rowan protested. He wrenched his arm away from the elf. "I have to thank Aran for saving me!" He ran after Aran, pushing through a group of people. The elf didn't come after him and although it slightly disappointed Rowan that she didn't try to catch him, he continued running.

"Miss Aran! Thank you for saving me!" Rowan called out when he approached a clearing where Aran had stopped.

"What are you doing here?" Aran exclaimed when she saw Rowan tripping after her. "Your parents will be worried sick!"

"I… I didn't get to say thank you…" Rowan said, smoke reentering his eyes and extracting tears from them.

"Go back! It's dangerous!" Aran ordered firmly. "I can't take you back this time; the Black Mage will come any second now. Do you think you can make it back by yourself?"

Rowan realized what he had gotten himself into. He was in the middle of a forest going down in flames and the Black Mage could come any time and kill him. Paralyzed in fear, he didn't respond to Aran.

Suddenly, a huge force pushed him back and caused him to fall on the ground. The ground was hard and rocky and his fall tore a large gash open on his leg. The pain was sharp and growing, but Rowan didn't feel it. Seeing his blood spreading all over the forest floor made him feel numb.

"Aw, crap," he heard Aran mutter. She got blown on to the ground too, but she recovered quickly.

A dark, shadow loomed in front of her, staring at her condescendingly. Then its gaze shifted to Rowan. He felt himself shrinking against the ground. The creature took out a large, bony hand and flicked the air around it. Large spheres of fire manifested in the air and came crashing down towards him. Was this the Black Mage? His presence was truly terrifying and his power frightening, even disturbing.

"Get back!"

Aran's voice brought him back down from his thoughts. Rowan felt her slam into him and push him out of the way, the fireballs hitting exactly where he been less than a second ago. Aran ripped a piece of her cape off and tied it tightly around Rowan's injured leg. Almost immediately, the blood seeped through the black fabric so Aran wrapped another piece of her cape around his leg on top of the first one.

"What's your name?" she asked, a small bruise blooming on her cheekbone.

"Rowan."

"Rowan, can you do something for me?" she whispered. Rowan nodded. Her eyes flitted quickly to the Black Mage then back to Rowan. "Run."

This time, he did what he was told. Slowed down by his wound, he didn't get very far when the Black Mage sent a bolt of blue light after him.

There was a certain amount of dark energy in that light which made Rowan run even faster. The force of the light itself scared him to the point where he couldn't feel his limbs anymore and he might have pissed in his pants.

"Rowan!" Aran called after him. He saw her fling her polearm towards him. It grazed against his cheek lightly and although it left his face bleeding slightly, it had deflected the most of the attack.

But not all.

He could feel the energy from the attack wrapping itself around him and lifting him off of the ground. The energy squeezed him harder until breathing became a near-impossible task for Rowan to complete.

He lost his sense of sight first, followed by his touch. Then the taste of blood in his mouth disappeared and the smell of fire was extinguished. All he was left with was the echo of Aran's voice calling his name when he slowly slipped into abeyance.


	3. Chapter 3: Hangover

_Rowan_

I looked different. In the reflection of the still pondwater I had woken up next to, I could see myself very clearly, if I was even myself anymore. It had taken an alarming amount of energy to ignore my protesting muscles and drag myself to get a drink from the pond when I had gained consciousness just a few moments ago. But the face I saw staring back at me from the water had stopped me.

My face was longer, my head was smaller (in proportion to my body) and my bones more prominent, muscles more defined. Yet it felt strange to know who _I_ was, or at least who I had been. I couldn't recall what I had been doing before I… _what_? Before I lost consciousness next to this pond? What the hell was happening? Why couldn't I remember anything? This only happened to druggies and alcoholics who passed out on the street and woke up with amnesia, right? And I was lying on a stick. Really, it annoyed me a lot more than it actually hurt. Where was I, anyway? How come my muscles felt like they were laced with lead? I didn't like this situation. I had too many questions. No, that wasn't the problem; I liked questions. Questions were good. I just didn't have as many answers as I would've wanted to. I realized there was no point just thinking up more questions that would need to be later answered.

Move. That's what I needed to do. With my whining, groaning muscles, I pulled myself up and stretched a bit. Why was everything all green and leafy? And frankly, the chirpiness of the birds made me feel even worse. I wasn't used to my body and my elongated limbs were uncoordinated and awkward. This was nothing to be happily chirping about, so shut up, birds.

I tripped clumsily over a tree root that was intertwined with a tree branch covered in leaves. I was actually walking on a huge web of tree parts. "Grah!" I yelled in frustration at the open air that was covered by a canopy of… trees. Surprise, surprise.

"It's hard at first," a soft but confident voice startled me from behind. The owner of the voice stepped in front of me so I wouldn't need to turn around and get whacked with cannoli or something equally embarrassing as tripping over a tree.

"My name is Mercedes."

She smiled as she said this. Mercedes was noticeably smaller than me and her ears considerably pointier. Pale, leaf-green hair and soft blue elven eyes. In case you can't take a hint, Mercedes was an elf.

"What's hard at first?" I decided not to let the surprise of the maturity in my voice show on my face.

"Getting used to using your limbs after these hundreds of years," Mercedes said wryly.

"Ha, I don't look _that_ old, do I?" I chuckled a bit, in spite of myself.

Mercedes looked genuinely worried at the fact that I was laughing—or was it something I said?

"Do you know where or _when_ you are?" she asked me seriously.

"Do I look like I do?" I replied, not as seriously.

"What are you? As in class, warrior, mage…?"

_I don't know_, I felt like saying, but an image of a girl—I could say woman, actually—with long white hair gathered in a ponytail popped into my head. She carried a large, elaborately-crafted polearm and she handled it with certainty and grace. "A… warrior, I guess."

"You guess?" Mercedes looked doubtful.

I nodded.

"Um… I don't know?"

"Where are you from?" A sense of confusion now tainted both of our voices.

"Where am I from? Gee, uh, I don't know," I answered with a small bit of sarcasm seeping into my voice, caused by my growing tiredness of this interrogation. Who was she to ask me so many questions?

"Oh boy, I better get you to Grendel the Really Old," Mercedes muttered, a bit to herself.

"Who?"

She sighed. "Just turn around and walk. Follow me."

I turned around and walked, following her. I was beginning to wonder whether or not it was possible that I _was_ a druggie or an alcoholic, but I just couldn't remember.


	4. Chapter 4: Tall

_Arrie_

"Ooh! Can I see it?" I asked eagerly as Sybil opened the door. "Your belly-button piercing?" She invited us into her dorm room, a painfully small single, and graciously ignored my question. It didn't help that I was claustrophobic _and_ impatient.

"So how is James?" Sybil asked when we were all seated on her bed which took up half the room.

"Amazing," Martin replied at the same time that I scoffed out the word "horrible". Sybil smiled slightly at this.

"And I suppose David and Gina are doing well?" Sybil always called our parents by their names when she wasn't talking to them. I didn't answer her question, but Martin did and the conversation sort of stopped there. A silence settled in the spaces between us and the three of us sat there unmoving. It wasn't awkward or uncomfortable since we enjoyed lack of outside noise and, excluding Martin, we weren't huge fans of talking. Well, in my case, I wasn't a huge fan of talking nicely.

"Let's take a walk," Sybil offered. We nodded our assent and she ushered us out the door.

Once outside, the noisy streets acted as a comforting backdrop for our conversation, or more accurately, our lack of it. Streams of busy adults were on their way to work, carelessly jaywalking to rush the already hurried trip to their destination. Adults were boring that way, they kept their heads down throughout the journey and were immediately disappointed when they got where they had intended to go. And they gave you way too much crap about your attitude.

I heard the jingle of the door as we entered a coffee shop at the edge of the block. Caffeine always made a good day better and made your bad days normal. Martin and Sybil sat down in a booth by the cozy-coloured walls after I voluntarily went to get us our drinks. Two black coffees for me and Martin and nothing for Sybil (she didn't like eating or drinking when she wasn't at home).

"Two small coffees. Black," I said to the girl standing behind the counter. She wore a plain black t-shirt (not a tube top that displayed more than enough skin, dad) and had electric blue highlights in her hair.

"So, uh, tall, right?" black t-shirt girl said, rolling her eyes slightly.

"Is that the smallest size you have?" I ask unsurely. I've never been good with coffee sizes.

"Yeah."

"Why isn't it called small?"

"Do you want the coffee or not?"

I gave her 200 mesos and she gave me the coffee. I stayed at the counter looking at the coffee sizes printed on the sign above black t-shirt girl's head.

"Do you need something else?" she asked, clearly irritated by my presence.

"Why isn't it called small?"

"Go away."

When I reached the booth Sybil and Martin were occupying, they were talking about Sybil's new art school. It was sort of funny to see them face-to-face because their resemblance was so apparent. The same sunny-yellow shade of hair, the same brown, almond-shaped eyes, the same habit of sitting on their hands. They both looked striking, but not because they were good-looking. Although they both had lean, well-toned muscles, the thing that made people look and keep looking was the air around them. I don't mean that literally, it's just that Sybil seemed to fill the space around her with feeling of serenity and Martin seemed to radiate happiness in the colour of cheery sunflowers (for lack of a better description).

And then there was me. I had dark brown/black hair that was brittle and hung on my head heavily. It was like a black hole that sucked all luminosity and brightness right out of the space around it and spat out normalness. I was the kind of person you could bump into on the street and not recognize if you saw them at Wal-mart within the next hour. I wasn't fat or skinny, outstandingly pretty or ugly—I didn't stand out in any way. I was plain and I went unnoticed in Wal-mart.

"It's great, really. I mean, the new environment in Kerning is really having an impact on my art," I heard Sybil say. Well, she was a landscape artist, so one would expect her paintings to change when she went to an entirely different city setting,

"Here," I said and passed Martin his coffee.

"Small?" he noted.

"Nope, tall."

"Why isn't it called small?" Sybil asked quietly. I shrugged it off with a laugh and sat down next to her.

"Probably because it doesn't sound quite posh enough," Martin explained good-naturedly. "And thanks, I'll pay you back later."

"No need," I said, dismissing his offer with a wave of my hand. I took a sip of my coffee but it scalded my tongue so I put it down on the table. I watch pathetically as Martin gulped down his.

"Hey, Air?" Sybil said.

"Yeah?"

"A while ago, you said you wanted to become a mage, right?"

"Mhmm." I read the tiny words on the side of my double-layered paper coffee cup. _Caution,_ _hot!_ It said in a happy font. My still tingling tongue thought up a plethora of mean things to say to that condescending text but my brain stopped it by telling it that it'd be talking to a cup.

"Do you still want to?" Sybil asked.

"Yeah, I guess." _Oh, the fake nonchalance in my voice._

"Do you know what you should do?"

"No," I lied.

"I think you should do it. Go talk to Grendel the Really Old and ask for lessons," Sybil said thoughtfully.

"Hm."

"You seemed pretty miserable when you went for warrior training," she stated, looking down at the table. "If you think that magic is really what you want, then go for it." Her voice sounded different.

"Really?"

"Really. I think it'll make you happier," Sybil told me, lifting her gaze off the table to look sincerely into my eyes. "I think you need more happiness in your life."

_Yeah, that, or a less annoying little brother._

"Think about it, okay?" She said with every ounce of Sybil-ness in her words. Seriousness settled into her face and it worried me slightly. I've never seen her look _this_ serious before, and I'm talking about Sybil, who was practically seriousness personified.

"I will," I agreed and that was the truth. But I had already been thinking about it for a long time now. I picked up my coffee and drank it slowly and deliberately. It had cooled down enough to drink. "Hey, did you see that new movie? The one about the upcoming Balrog Expedition?"

"Oh, I saw that with Derek the other day. Man, that was a mistake," Martin said, a laugh in his voice.

I had almost forgotten that Martin was there. Throughout the whole conversation about magic, he had kept silent.


End file.
